Voyages
by Jennistar1
Summary: I return! A continuation of Maerad and Cadvan's adventures. Do not read if you have not read The Singing. Rated T but may go up for later chapters.
1. Unexpected Progress

**SINGING SPOILERS. PLEASE, IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE SINGING, DO NOT READ THIS FIC!**

**Okay, so hello again everyone! It's Jennistar1 back from the dead. I am so, so sorry for my absence, but now I am back and better than ever! This fic is basically a continuation of Maerad and Cadvan's adventures from the end of the Singing. I wrote this chapter a long time ago, so my writing has not changed very much here, but later chapters will be very different. I hope I still have whatever it is you all love!**

**This is a T fic for the moment, but please bear in mind that it might change for later chapters.**

**I do not own Pellinor, nor any of the characters, much to my everlasting woe.**

**So, without further ado…let's begin…**

**VOYAGES**

Chapter One – Unexpected Progress

The summer storm ravaged Innail Fesse with brutal delight, shattering the night's peace with effortless torrents of rain and howls of wind. The sky boiled and twisted in joy, and the innkeeper Harl and his temporary tenants sat and watched the spectacle out of the kitchen window of the popular inn 'The Shining Sword', muttering about the drama of it all and delighting in their cups of mulled wine, reputed as the best in all of the Fesse.

Harl was in a good mood – the inn was almost fully booked for the whole week, the weather – until now – had been full and bright, and had broken in perfect time to assist his crops, and his wife had announced yesterday that she was pregnant for the fourth time. A Bardic Healer from the School of Innail had even visited earlier today and had confirmed that all was well, and that there was a high chance that it was boy, the heir of the inn whom Harl had so been longing for.

Yes, Harl decided, glancing over to the table where his tenants sat, exchanging news and cracking jokes in the cosy candlelight of the kitchen whilst he cleared up the remains of supper. All was well in the world, even with this bitter storm. Especially now that business with the Dark was ended, whatever it had been about anyway. Harl wasn't sure of the details, only that some Bard had unravelled the Nameless One's immortality with help from the Elidhu. There were rumours that this Bard was a young girl, but Harl thought this unlikely. It was probably some old age, famous Bard from Norloch instead, and this girl had been an assistant or helper. Surely if she had done all that was said she had done, more of a fuss would have been made about her? A huge festival in honour of her or something. The Light knew Bards seized any opportunity to have a celebration. But no. This girl – if there had been one in the first place – had simply melted away into obscurity.

The bell for the door rang out suddenly and broke Harl out of his musings. He frowned slightly, not expecting the interruption, then put down the plate he was drying and went to the front door. It opened out onto a small, open courtyard, on the other side of which were stables for traveller's horses and Harl's treasured crop fields. It was so dark and storm ravaged that when Harl first opened the door, he couldn't see a thing. Then his vision adjusted slightly to the wild darkness, and he realised that there were two travellers, decked in hoods and cloaks and soaking wet, approaching the open doorway on horses. It was only when they stepped into the light of the inside that Harl noticed what fine horses they were and judged they must be Bards.

"Greetings," he called out in his rough countryman's voice, speaking loudly so that he could be heard over the wailing wind. "Mighty hard night to be riding in."

One of the travellers slipped off the larger dark horse and approached Harl, hand outstretched.

"Indeed it is," said a male, warm voice. He clasped Harl's hand in greeting and pushed back his hood to show a stern-faced man of perhaps thirty-five years, with strange scars curling around his left cheek and dark, long hair now wet and plastered to his head.

"That's why," he continued brightly, "We thought we might inquire if you have any vacancies for the night."

Before Harl could answer, the second rider dismounted their smaller horse and took their place next to the man, also pulling back their hood. Harl came face to face with a young, pretty woman, with a thin face, grave mouth and deep shadows of exhaustion under her clear blue eyes. She gave him an absent smile, pushing her rain-soaked black hair out of her face with pale hands. Harl noticed she was missing some fingers on her left hand and tried not to stare.

He pulled himself together – Bards meant money.

"We're almost full tonight, m'lord," he answered, bowing. "But we have space in the stables for the horses and one room vacant – just a double bed though, sire."

Harl had been an innkeeper for nigh-on twenty years – he knew how to read faces. And so he did not miss the sudden, fleeting uncertainty and indecision that flickered across both faces, brief though it was. He had been automatically assuming the two were together, but this reaction confused him – perhaps the young lady was only the man's student. Or perhaps he was an uncle, a relative…

He was thrown even further into the oceans of puzzlement, then, when the woman said suddenly,

"That's fine."

The man gave the woman a sharp look, which she either didn't notice or ignored. Harl kept his face carefully blank and merely bowed again, an image of the perfect innkeeper.

"Of course it is, mistress. I shall prepare the room immediately. The stables are just on the other side of the courtyard – you should find all you need for the horses in there."

The two nodded and gave him brief smiles of thanks, then took the reins of the horses and proceeded back across the darkened, storm-ravaged courtyard to the stables beyond.

Harl had good hearing also, tempered by much listening at doors for decent gossip, so just caught the brief conversation between the two as they retreated.

"Maerad, are you sure that's all right?"

"Cadvan. I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm tired. It's all right!"

_Maerad._ Harl mused upon the name as he retreated back into the warmth. _Maerad._ He was sure that name was familiar.

* * *

The 'room' turned out to be a suite, with a living area, the one bedroom and even a door to the communal baths, much to Maerad's delight. After they drank the mulled wine sent up by Harl, she made a beeline for the baths and spent a happy hour relaxing in the warm water whilst listening to the patter of the rain outside and experimenting with the various scented oils she had found in a cupboard.

She returned into the living room, hair wet, skin soft, swathed in a blue silk robe, to find Cadvan on his knees before the couch, tucking blankets around it and whistling under his breath distractedly.

She paused in the doorway to the bathroom, taking in the candlelit room, the crackling fire in the grate, the dark latticed windows, the comforting smell of woodsmoke and mulled wine hanging in the amber air.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Cadvan glanced up, noticing her for the first time, and she caught that strange, swift emotion which seemed to always flicker in his eyes when he caught sight of her these days.

"You look nice," he commented.

Maerad remembered suddenly that she was only wearing a robe, and a rather figure-hugging one at that, and blushed a little – but thankfully Cadvan had gone back to his tidying of the blankets and didn't notice.

"So what are you doing?" she asked again when he showed no signs of answering her first attempt.

He glanced up at her again, a half smile on his face.

"Making my bed of course!"

So he hadn't expected to share the bed with her. Maerad felt both relieved and disappointed at this, and was reminded of the time when they had shared a room with only one bed before and Cadvan had offered to sleep on the couch then, when he had seen her nervousness of the situation.

Did he really think nothing had changed since then?

Maerad glanced through the other doorway at the bedroom and the illuminated double bed.

"I don't know why you're bothering," she said, keeping her voice light. "There's enough room for two."

Cadvan looked up again, and this time there was a sharpness in his gaze which hadn't been there before. He glanced into the bedroom, then at her. There was a long silence before he spoke.

"Are you sure?"

There was a concern and compassion in his voice that made Maerad's heart flutter warmly – if she had had any lingering doubts before he spoke, she didn't now. She grinned.

"I'm sure. As long as you don't snore!"

Her jest was ignored; Cadvan was still looking at her sombrely from his position on the floor, examining her face for any nervousness or doubt. Maerad sobered up and met his eyes, keeping her expression clear.

"Really, Cadvan. It's _fine_. Sleeping together can just mean _sleeping_, you know."

Cadvan surveyed her for a moment more, then, evidently realising she was truly settled about it, broke into one of his radiant smiles and nodded.

"All right then."

"Good."

Maerad smiled back, then broke off eye contact before she could get too lost in his gaze and collapsed into the couch nearest the fire, shaking out her wet hair before it to dry it. Cadvan cleared the other couch free of blankets, then took his place next to her. For a while they sat in silence, both gazing at the popping fire, Maerad absentmindedly combing through her hair with her fingers. The storm howled outside, safe behind walls and windows.

After a bit, Cadvan reached forward and silently assisted Maerad with her hair, combing through the wet tangles, though he seemed more preoccupied with its softness and ended up just vaguely stroking the drier parts of her hair instead. Maerad relaxed into the peaceful caressing of his fingers, leaning into him and half closing her eyes.

"Lirigon next, then," she murmured after a peaceful moment.

"Mmhmm." Cadvan's hands never stopped their soft massaging. "We can stay with a relative while we're there."

"A relative?" Maerad opened one eye and glanced up at him. Cadvan smiled wryly.

"A great grand-niece, one of the descendants of my sister. She already looks older than me. Such is the curse of a Bard's long life."

"She isn't a Bard?"

"No, she's a shoe-maker. Just like my father was. Carries on the fine tradition!"

"Huh."

"She will be overjoyed to meet you."

"Oh?" Maerad opened both eyes properly and turned her head to look at Cadvan, interrupting his dreamy disentanglement of her hair.

He grinned mischievously.

"Yes, she's been waiting for me to bring a woman to introduce to her for ages. I think she was starting to wonder if my desires ran in other channels!"

Maerad stuttered, a bit flustered at what this great grand-niece might assume.

"But we're not – I mean we _are_, but – "

"You're the one that invited me to bed." Cadvan's slightly flirty smile grew even more mischievous, but Maerad was now too alarmed to notice.

"Oh no, but that was – I didn't – I – "

"Maerad." The jokey grin vanished at her sudden panic, warm hands encased her own and a steady pair of eyes held hers. "I was jesting with you. I know we are not – Well. We are whatever you want us to be. I have no qualms."

The agitation in Maerad's eyes softened and she relaxed, and gave him a small, almost child-like smile.

"Thank you."

Automatically, almost instinctively now, she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. Instead of drawing away, though, like he had expected her to, Cadvan felt the kiss intensify; her mouth clamped onto his, her teeth grazed his bottom lip slightly, making him moan, her arms moved up his chest to twine around his neck. He responded in kind, tightening his grip around her waist, drawing her closer, tilting his head slightly so that he could deepen the kiss even further. He could hear the storm outside, but it was nothing compared to the rush of blood pumping in his ears and the sound of Maerad's erratic breathing so close to him. He waited until it got too pleasurable to bear, then drew slowly away before he could be tempted to go any further. Maerad looked slightly put out at his withdrawal, but said nothing and instead settled herself back into the crook of his arm – she had almost moved into his lap during the embrace.

They sat, listening to the storm while away for a moment more, and it was only when Cadvan noticed Maerad was dropping off to sleep on his shoulder that he roused her – and himself.

"Come on. Bed. We have to rise early tomorrow."

"Mrumph," Maerad commented grumpily, but allowed herself to be picked up and walked to the bedroom and the dubious double bed.

Cadvan put her down between the cool sheets, then slipped under the covers himself after extinguishing the lights and the fire, intending to stay a respectable distance away, but evidently the sleepy Maerad had other ideas. She immediately shifted closer to him as soon as he was in the bed properly and squirmed down inside the sheets so that she could rest her head on his chest and twine her arms around his waist.

"Maerad," he protested, but didn't move away. Instead he wrapped his own arms around her slender frame and rested his chin lightly on her still faintly damp hair. Her scent – sharp as pine – infused his senses, intoxicating him. He sighed expansively, enjoying the warmth of the frail body next to him and the sound of her regular breathing filling the room. He thought she was asleep, but then she took in a large breath, yawned and mumbled drowsily,

"You smell nice."

He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her forehead automatically.

"Sleep," he mock-ordered quietly. He felt her smile against his chest, then her breathing fell regular again and he knew she was properly asleep.

He intended to stay awake for a while, to enjoy the peace of the moment, the feel of Maerad so close to him, the diminishing storm outside, but he himself was asleep within seconds of Maerad.

They slept long and deeply, in each others arms, as the storm blew itself out and moved on, leaving a bright, new day celebrating in its wake.

**Thank you for reading! Please review, the more reviews I get, the quicker the next chapter goes up! Yes, I still blackmail my readers heartlessly ^^,**


	2. A Look Back I

**Greetings, y'all! I hope you are all well. Here is the second chapter of Voyages; I had a little trouble with Cadvan this time round, he seemed determined to act younger than he does in the books – he seems to want to be the sort of light-hearted, rakish person he was before he knew the true horrors of the Dark, and, after resisting for a while, I thought 'why not?' After all, he has deserved a bit of happiness. So if Cadvan seems a bit OOC, I apologise…I hope you like what I have written, and thank you so much for reviewing!**

**I really hope I still have that special thing you Pellinorites seem to love...  
**

**I don't own Pellinor or any of the characters…*sob***

Chapter Two – A Look Back (I)

It had been possibly the most beautiful day that had ever existed, Maerad thought dreamily, as she trotted down the red clay road in an avenue surrounded on all sides by large willow trees, which drooped over the path, sometimes dropping so low as to brush the top of her head. The air smelled of wet grass and leaves simmered in sunshine, the pungent and unmistakeable scent of spring which permeated all it touched with its refreshing and silent calm. The sun was just touching the horizon, heralding an even more beautiful sunset and even the birds singing were doing so drowsily. A small gurgling brook ran happily alongside the road, a sure sign, Cadvan had said, that they were nearing Lirigon – they would see more springs and rivers before the day was properly out, all leading away from the Lir Lake, which Lirigon was nestled by. He had predicted at lunchtime that they would see Lirigon by the time the sun set.

Maerad sighed as quietly as possible, casting a quick look at her aforementioned neighbour, who trotted alongside her on his black stallion; for once his face was not covered in a hood but open to the spring air, and, despite the scars and lines of exhaustion that still existed around his eyes, she thought she had never seen him so peaceful or happy. He was going home, she realised suddenly. Of course he would be happy. It had been possibly a year, or even more, since he had been home. If it were her returning to her childhood home, she would be overjoyed, to the point of annoying excitableness.

But she had no home, she remembered bitterly. Nowhere to return to. She might have saved the world, but there was nowhere in that world that was a home to her.

She bit her lip, looking back down at Keru's mane and scolding herself for thinking so miserably. She had reason to though, she decided stubbornly. Meeting relatives of Cadvan…

"Nervous?" Cadvan's voice, light and teasing, cut through her thoughts and making her jump. She scowled up at him.

"Of course not."

Cadvan was not put off by her snappy response; instead he smiled mildly, slowed Darsor down to a halt, then, when Keru followed suit, leaned across and cupped her chin in one hand, looking at her intently. Maerad swallowed hard; the sun was setting in the trees just behind Cadvan, creating an orange-gold aura around his head, occasionally dappled with shadow as the leaves moved across the sun in a light breeze, and the amber light was making his blue eyes look even darker, his cheekbones higher, his lips fuller…she felt her heart rate climb to new heights.

"Liar," he said softly to her response, then leaned forward and kissed her.

For a moment Maerad forgot to be nervous and let herself fall into the kiss; it was sweet, sweeter than even the taste of the spring air, and soft, and tender, and she thought, briefly, that she had never felt anything so perfect.

Of course, things so perfect never last forever, she thought regretfully a second later when Cadvan moved away and looked at her inquisitively.

Her nervousness returned with a vengeance.

"What if they don't like me?" she whispered.

Cadvan burst out laughing, the avenue momentarily ringing with the sound.

"Of course they'll like you!"

"But what if they _don't_?" Maerad insisted, now thoroughly convinced that every one of Cadvan's old friends and relatives was going to hate her on sight and drum her out of the town, probably with pitchforks too, her imagination added wildly.

"Maerad, Maerad, Maerad," Cadvan sighed, and shook his head, still grinning, but stifled it quickly when he saw the now terrified look on her face.

"Of course they will like you."

"They won't."

"Why _wouldn't _they?"

"Because…" Maerad flailed desperately for a reason, found none, realised that her logic hadn't reached this far and so replied lamely, "Just because…"

"Maerad." Cadvan moved his head so that she was looking at him again. "Even if you hadn't just single-handedly saved the whole of Edil-Amarandh from a darkness even worse than that of the Great Silence, my people would still love you. You are charming, and beautiful, and above all, a true person of the Light. There is nothing they could hate about you." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "Plus you argue with me. My great grand-niece will adore you just for that."

Maerad hesitated, but was not quite pacified.

"And if they decide they don't like me?"

"Then they'll have to answer to me."

Maerad glanced up at Cadvan, who winked solemnly. Despite herself, she found herself smirking sardonically.

"Oh, a truly terrifying thought."

Cadvan beamed.

"That's more like it! Now, if you've finished having your little tantrum, could we continue…?"

Maerad squawked indignantly and raised her hand to thump his arm, but Cadvan was already gone, galloping down the avenue and laughing at her. Maerad laughed too, a little surprised at Cadvan's sudden joy but her panic completely dissipating, and spurred Keru into catching him up.

"I'm going to get you for that, Cadvan of Lirigon!"

The two riders vanished in a cloud of dust and mirth, and, very slowly, the calm breath of spring and song of the birds began to crawl back into the scene. Peace once more tentatively descended her invisible blanket, although not without caution, lest some up-roaring Bards decided to come and disturb it again.

* * *

Within an hour, the Bards were in sight of the School of Lirigon. It sat atop a green hill, just above the lake, surrounded by green fields and an amazingly clear river, which twisted around the hill in a horseshoe shape and was accessed by a number of yellow sandstone bridges. The protective walls and the buildings of the School were also made of the same sandstone, and the roofs were of the same dark red clay that the path to Lirigon had been made of; Maerad recalled Cadvan telling her of the good clay around the Lir Lake and realised this was probably what it was. The sun was just falling under the horizon when they arrived, so the whole scene was bathed in a rich amber light. Maerad thought, as she always thought whenever she arrived somewhere new, that she had never seen anywhere so beautiful. She breathed in the sight happily; she may have gone through a year of terrors and hardships for this world, she mused, but this sort of thing reminded her how well worth it each trial had been.

Cadvan smiled over at her.

"Is it not beautiful?"

"Beautiful," she agreed dreamily, staring at the sight. "So beautiful."

Cadvan beamed; apparently this was the right thing to say.

"I'll show you around tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Maerad blinked.

"Yes – for now our path runs this way."

He gestured to a fork in the road, which Maerad saw led through a deeply forested glade to a small clearing, in which she could spot a small house nestled by the river, complete with a rickety millwheel, a pair of ramshackle stables and a small but pretty garden.

They trotted through the glade, Maerad feeling her nervousness double.

"This is – where you lived?"

Cadvan said nothing for a while; Maerad glanced at him and saw that his eyes were glazed over with dreamy remembrance – for the moment he was back in the past and so completely lost to her.

She swallowed, looking down from the house to the reins in her hands. They were shaking slightly; she glared at them until they stopped.

Cadvan stopped and dismounted, Maerad following suit slightly untidily. They stood for a moment, gazing at the house bathed in its peach light.

"Yes," Cadvan said suddenly. "I lived here." He took a half step forward. "The roses are doing well – they're Mari's favourites. And they were my mothers…the clay roof tiles could do with a bit of replacing though – I wonder – "

He took a few more steps forward, rubbing his chin and smiling in a vague sort of way. Maerad hesitated between the two horses, unsure what to do and battling the urge to run as far away as possible.

She glanced around her and spotted the river gurgling peacefully by, and a story of Cadvan's suddenly sprang to mind. She glanced back at Cadvan, to find that he had snapped out of his reverie and was walking back to her, still with a faint trace of the dreamy smile on his face. She smiled back hesitantly and gestured at the river.

"Is this the river where you met the fish?"

"When I first realised I had the Gift?" Cadvan laughed aloud. "Yes, it was! I had almost forgotten…I refused to leave the house for days afterwards, my mother ended up having to find the fish and dragged me outside to talk with it. It was so strange to her…and yet it helped me no end. She was so good at that…"

His face became suddenly withdrawn and haunted again, and Maerad bit her lip, half wishing she had said nothing. Tentatively, she reached forward and took his hand. It was warm and calloused, and her fingers began to stroke his palm before she realised what she was doing.

"_Cadvan of Lirigon!_" screeched a voice like a crow's. Maerad jumped a mile and let go of Cadvan's hand, and they both turned to see who was screaming at them.

The owner of the shriek was an elderly woman, short and plump and dressed in a simple white shift, who had obviously just exited the house and was now striding through the garden towards them, a rolling pin in her hand and a fierce expression on her birdlike face. Maerad gulped and took a nervous step back, but she was not the object of the woman's rage – the woman marched straight up to Cadvan, thwacked him on the head with the rolling pin and then, as he cringed, bellowed,

"A year and a half! A _year_ and a _half_, you worthless little – " Cadvan raised his head to protest and she whacked him again. "Sure, sure, run off and fight monsters of the Dark that threaten us all, why don't you? And forget about your family altogether! _Very _Bardic!"

"I didn't _forget_ – " began Cadvan, but she raised the rolling pin threateningly and he yelped and ducked his head. "I mean, sorry Mari, won't leave it that long again Mari!"

"You had better _not!_" the little old woman screamed. "Or next time I won't stop at a little rolling pin! All _right?_"

"All right, all right!" yelled Cadvan, rubbing his head.

The old woman lowered her pin, apparently satisfied for now.

"Good. As long as that is settled. Welcome back."

Cadvan grunted, still massaging his head. The woman switched her gaze suddenly onto Maerad, who had been hovering in the background, torn between alarm at Cadvan being beaten black and blue by an apparent stranger, and mirth at the so-called great Bard being so easily subdued.

"And who are you?" the woman snapped.

Maerad looked into a pair of very blue, very sharp eyes, and swallowed.

"Maerad," she whispered, then added, a little hastily, "ma'am…"

"It's Mari," growled the woman. "Great grand-niece to this lump over here." She elbowed Cadvan in the ribs, apparently not noticing his squeak of pain.

"Oh. Right," whispered Maerad. She took advantage of the small pause that followed to survey the woman more closely; she was tiny, she thought, but plump. Her wiry grey hair was bound in a tight bun to the back of her head, and her face was covered in wrinkles, but Maerad could still see that she had inherited Cadvan's strong jaw and his blue eyes. Somehow, this fact made her even more nervous.

"So you're Maerad of Pellinor, hmm? Great saviour of the world?" Mari snapped. Maerad nodded fearfully, and got a scowl for her troubles. "I'd expected someone a bit...taller. And older. And not so skinny."

Maerad glared, stung.

"So sorry to disappoint," she retorted rudely, forgetting her nerves for the moment, then remembering them a second later and clapping her hand to her mouth, mortified. "I mean, um…"

For some reason, though, the rolling pin did not come into play – instead, Mari beamed at her with a mouth full of more gaps than teeth. "Ah, that's more like it! A bit of fire to you! I'll bet you keep this one in line, eh?" She nudged the sullen Cadvan again.

Maerad smiled timidly, unsure what to say, but apparently the pin wielding monster had finished tormenting her for now, and turned back to the cowering Cadvan.

"Come on then, come in, what are you waiting for? The stables are all ready, and dinner's going to be late, and it's all your fault, so you'd better make it quick, yes?"

"Yes, Mari," Cadvan muttered.

"And don't mumble," she shot behind her as she strode back to the house.

They waited until the door had firmly shut behind her before breathing a collective sigh of relief.

"She's…" Maerad began, then realised she didn't know where to start.

"Yes," Cadvan said grimly. "But she likes you. She smiled at you. That means she likes you." He paused, then added, "Well, usually."

Maerad gulped.

* * *

A large bowl of something brown and sticky was thumped in front of Maerad with astounding viciousness.

"Eat," commanded the bowl's sharp-tongued owner, and returned to the stove, not before presenting Cadvan with the same bowl of horror.

Maerad stared down into the bowl. Its contents stared back.

She glanced up at Cadvan sitting on the opposite side of the rickety wooden table and grimaced in a plea for help, but he just winked cheekily at her, then removed his spoon from the bowl (with some difficulty) and plopped it into his mouth with every sign of enjoyment.

Maerad looked back down at her bowl. Well, she thought. I've managed to save the world, surely eating this should be no trouble…

Somehow, this thought was not as convincing as it should have been.

To distract herself, she looked around the kitchen. It was a tiny affair, just large enough to hold a rusting stove, a few counters and their table. A small pantry led off to one end, from which emitted the tempting scents of several different herbs, some of which Maerad thought she could recognise from Cadvan's cooking. She realised that this was probably just how the kitchen had looked when Cadvan was a child, and entertained herself for a while by imagining a five year old Cadvan running around the kitchen, getting in his mother's way, begging for scraps and talking about everything from the mysteries of life to the colour of his socks. The image made Maerad feel a little sad, as if that Cadvan wasn't the one she knew, a different Cadvan, a different person. It was as if the five year old Cadvan wasn't done yet, that he still had more years to go before he was hers, her Cadvan…

She looked sidelong at Cadvan, who was finishing off his gloop and showing all signs of asking for more. He must have had a happy childhood, she mused, then remembered her own and felt the same dull anger and loss pound through her veins. Most of her life had been nothing but a simple stream of sadness and misfortune and hurt. It didn't have a place here, in this homely, happy place. Maybe _she _didn't have a place here…

She noticed Cadvan watching her, and turned her attention back to her bowl to avoid looking at him. Tentatively, she tried a spoonful.

It tasted wonderful.

* * *

_Darkness. So much darkness, not the simple darkness of the night, but an actual mind-blanking, heart-freezing darkness. A malicious darkness. A living darkness. Watching her…_

_She stepped forward, a dark figure into the dark background. And yet they could still see her, she knew. They were there, waiting on the edges of her mind as they always did, hovering there, even in her waking hours, waiting for the moment when they could return to plague her, to plea with her._

_She could hear their voices now, a thousand thousand voices, all talking of different things, but all with that same begging note in their words._

"_Please, tell my son – "_

"_Please, avenge me – "_

"_Please, tell me – "_

"_Please – "_

"_Please – "_

"_Please – TAKE ME BACK."_

_And now she could see them, shimmering grey shapes in the blackness, coming towards her, hands outstretched but touching nothing, murmuring their constant prayers, whispered appeals, reaching for her heart, ready to entwine themselves into her forever, and if they did that, she knew, they would never leave. Not that they showed any signs of this anyway…_

_Stuck forever, with the pleas of the dead._

"_Please…"_

"_Please…"_

"_Please…take me back."_

_

* * *

  
_

Maerad awoke, trembling and gasping, to find herself in the small attic room of the house, not alone in the room but alone in the bed. Mari had pointedly shown them into the room, indicating the two separate beds inside it and giving them severe looks until they agreed to sleep apart. It had been the first time since the first windswept night in the Innail inn that Maerad and Cadvan had spent apart, and Maerad now realised just how good the closeness had been for her…the dreams did not come when Cadvan was near.

She groaned as quietly as possible and sat up, balancing her forehead on her knees and twining her arms around them. Was this going to be her reward for saving the Light? Constant nightmares of the dead? And not a vengeful, angry dead, but a sad, pitiful dead, which was much worse in a way…Would she be like that when she was dead? Not at peace, as she hoped, but miserable, desperate, as hopeless as those shades, grey in the darkness, nothing in the world.

She let out an unexpected sob, then swallowed it quickly before she woke Cadvan up, burrowing her face in her knees.

She wasn't quite as successful as she had hoped. The other bed rustled a little, and then Cadvan's voice said quietly,

"Maerad? Are you all right?"

Maerad swallowed hard.

"Fine," she said levelly.

She should have known it wouldn't work. The covers on the other bed were pushed back, and Cadvan gently padded over to hers, perching on the edge of it, his hands quietly finding hers in the semi-darkness.

"What was it?"

"Just a nightmare."

"About…?"

"The dead," she whispered. She sensed Cadvan go still.

"You still see them?" he asked in a monotone.

"Only in my head," she muttered. "B – but always there, always asking for things, so many things Cadvan, that I can't give them – " Another sob broke out of her before she could protest, and Cadvan's grip on her hands tightened.

"You should have told me."

"I – haven't had the nightmare in a while."

A pause.

"Why not?"

Maerad felt herself blush, and thanked the Light it was dark.

"I think it was the empty bed…"

Another pause, in which she could almost _hear _Cadvan grinning.

"Shut up," she snapped, and put her head back in her knees.

Cadvan shifted on the bed.

"Move up."

"What?"

"I said, move up. You've got all the space."

Nonplussed, Maerad automatically shifted sideways, and Cadvan settled himself more comfortably on half of the bed.

"Maerad," he said, then was silent for a while. Maerad instinctively lay her head on his shoulder and listened to his steady breathing.

"Maerad," he said again, eventually. "I cannot pretend to know the full extent of what you saw and what you went through before we reunited the Song, but from what I can see, it was a terrifying experience. One that I am not overfond of you having to constantly repeat. So if there is anything I can do…anything."

"I know," she whispered. "But I'm not sure _anyone_ can do anything…not about this. I suppose it's just something I will have to live with."

"There is too much you have to 'just live with'," Cadvan said, sounding suddenly angry. Maerad nodded, not sure what to say. There was nothing either of them could do about it; it was the past, the past could not be changed, and her life could not be repeated. Cadvan could be as angry as he liked at the world, but it wouldn't change anything. And she was happy now. Surely that was all she needed?

"It's all right," she said quietly.

As quietly as possible, Cadvan slipped back between the covers and Maerad, as she had done for what felt like aeons now, shifted closer to him. He was warm and comfortable, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling instantly better.

"Are you sure?" he asked to her previous comment.

"Yes," she murmured. "But your great grand-niece will kill us if she finds us like this."

"Let her try," he answered grimly, and Maerad couldn't help but laugh, feeling the last vestiges of her nightmares float away with the sound.

"She hit you with a rolling pin!" she giggled, slightly hysterically. "_You_, the great Cadvan of Lirigon himself – "

"Shut up – "

"One hit with a rolling pin and you're as meek as a lamb!"

"Shut _up –_ "

"Oh, if only Malgorn and Silvia knew, they'd never let you live it down…"

"Don't you dare!" He reached down and tickled her mercilessly, and Maerad shrieked with surprise and laughter, and pushed herself away from him, wriggling to escape his fingers, while Cadvan, shaking with suppressed amusement, leaned forward and placed a quick finger on her lips.

"Shh! Shh!"

A quick moment passed, merely another heartbeat in the pulse of time, but the atmosphere changed completely in that beat – from giddily light-hearted and silly to abruptly very adult and very real. Maerad realised suddenly that Cadvan was close, very close, and that he had one hand on her hips, to stop her from falling off the edge of the bed, and the other cupping her cheek. She could feel the heat from his fingers burning through her nightdress, and her breathing quickened once more, though this time from desire, not fear.

"Maerad," said Cadvan, and it was in a voice he had never used before, a very dark and husky voice – it sent shivers sparking through her.

"Mmm?" she tried, but any further speech was halted by the feel of Cadvan's lips on her own.

The kiss was not like the one she had received earlier that day; it was still soft, but it was not tender, nor sweet – this was a hard, burning kiss that thrilled her down to her toes and into the very centre of her being. She gasped momentarily as he moved away, then moaned again as his mouth came colliding down onto hers once more, his tongue dancing against hers, his hands sliding very gently down her hips.

When he moved away again, Maerad realised she was lying deeply against the pillows, and that Cadvan was above her, pinning her very gently down into the mattress, his eyes burning with a flame that both enticed her and scared her.

"I have been wanting to do that all day," he commented, almost lazily.

Maerad swallowed hard, waiting for her body to calm itself down before she could reply without trembling.

"I see," she managed, in an admirably level voice, she thought.

"Mmm." Cadvan flopped back onto his side of the bed, resting his elbow on the pillows and his chin on his hand so that he could look at her. "You are very adorable when you are nervous."

Maerad turned her head to glare at him.

"You're making fun of me."

"Not at all." He flashed her a roguish grin, and Maerad had a sudden impression of what he must have looked like as a young man. She could see why Ceredin had fallen for him, she thought dizzily, arrogance and all.

"Well," she sniffed. "At least _I _impressed Mari."

"Yes, she is not happy with me," he replied, suddenly subdued. "I should have visited sooner."

Maerad took pity on him.

"You were busy saving the world."

Cadvan grinned.

"Oh no, it was you doing that. I just trailed after you."

Maerad laughed into the darkness. Very lightly, Cadvan reached out and traced the shape of her collarbone under her nightdress, smiling a little when she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

"Cadvan," she murmured.

The fingers trailed softly down her arm, then followed the curve of her hips and fell to her thighs, bare under the covers. She could feel the heat of his hand against her skin, a roughness against her softness, gentle in its slow caressing. The fingers found their way to her inner thighs and smoothly ran up and down the swell of her leg, taunting her until she found herself whispering for more, asking for his fingers to go just a little higher…

The hand slipped away, the touch vanished, and Maerad opened her eyes to look into Cadvan's smirking face.

"You are a horrible man," she pouted. Cadvan winked, then leant down and briefly kissed her lips, all sweet and tender again.

"Soon, I promise."

"But why not – "

He kissed her again.

"Shh. Sleep. I'm here, nothing else is going to trouble you."

Maerad sulkily closed her eyes, relaxing once more into his arms. She knew why he was doing it, why he had stopped, she knew that taking everything slowly was a good idea, that they had all the time in the world.

It was just a bit difficult to remember this when Cadvan's fingers were against her skin.

She fell asleep, and this time the shadows stayed in the back of her mind, where they belonged.

**So that's it for now. Please please review!! You know I adore every comment I get…**


	3. A Look Back II Faces from the Past

**Hello, kids, I have returned, and with the latest chapter! Yes, I know I am being awfully slow, but if you know me, you would also know this by now…so thanks for sticking around!**

**This chapter is much sadder and darker…I wrote it all in one go, and now I am KNACKERED. Hope you enjoy it, and please, please REVIEW!**

A Look Back (II - Faces from the Past)

Mari only dropped the bombshell when they were halfway through breakfast the next day. The kitchen was filled with the sleepy gold light of early morning, and all had been peace and quiet until she had spoken - Maerad and Cadvan had been too busy enjoying her homemade porridge to make anything but incoherent noises of pleasure.

"I have told a few people about your return, Cadvan. We agreed to meet at the Three Grapes."

"The Three Grapes?" Maerad faltered, but Cadvan was frowning at Mari and didn't respond to her question.

"Just how many is a _few, _Mari?"

Mari smiled wickedly, the wrinkles on her face deepening at her action, so that for a moment, her cheeks were a pattern of shadow and early morning light.

"A hundred or so?" she said innocently.

Cadvan groaned, and put his head in his hands.

"You do this _every _time, Mari…"

"Well _I_ can't help it if everyone wants to see the oh so _great _Bard himself…and you know what gossips people in Lirigon are, tell one, tell 'em all." She stood up, collecting the empty bowls, and motioned at Maerad with them. "Plus, knowing _she_'_s _here didn't help, either. They've been clamouring to meet her ever since they heard 'bout the visit."

Maerad threw Cadvan a look of pure terror, who rose his eyebrows at her apologetically.

"Looks like you'll be meeting the family all in one big go," he muttered to her, then went to help Mari with the washing up.

Pitchforks featured prominently in Maerad's imagination; she gulped and glared down at her hands until they stopped shaking. Give her wers anytime, she thought. Give her darkness, give her death, anything - anything but a social situation. And with Cadvan's relatives as well…

She glanced out through the open kitchen door to the peacefully gurgling river outside, watched the early sunlight flicker along its clear surface, and sighed inwardly.

Today would not be a good day.

***

The Three Grapes turned out to be an inn directly in the centre of Lirigon's town, almost the biggest Maerad had seen, and she had been to Thorold, who were well renowned for having huge inns, some complete with a full set of gardens, several floors and a huge patio at the front. This inn had all of these and more, and yet it was still packed to the rafters with people, all of whom started shouting and waving when they saw the three walk into the neat, sandstone town centre. Before either Maerad or Cadvan could run away, the flood of people had broken the barriers of the inn doors and were pouring into the street; Cadvan was immediately gripped into a huge bear hug by a man twice his height and weight, and hoisted into the air.

"'Van!" the man roared, gripping Cadvan so tightly that he was half laughing, half choking. "It's been _far _too long!"

Cadvan laughed, slapping the man on the back.

"Let go of me, Tallal, you wretch, or next time it'll be eternity!"

Roaring with laughter, the man released Cadvan and punched him heavily on the shoulder.

"The whole damn town's talking 'bout you and what you did, honestly, ye dinnae when ta stop, d'ya?"

Cadvan winked. "Always got to be centre of attention, you know me, Tal!"

"Aye, what else is new?" Tallal grinned, then transferred his attentions to Maerad, who was simultaneously sticking close to Cadvan and surveying the town centre in a panic, just in case she could find an escape. "You must be the great Maerad of Pellinor," he said, and stepped forward. Maerad flinched, in case he was going to squash all her organs out of their places, like he had done with Cadvan, and was pleasantly surprised when instead he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand gently.

"The whole town knows what you have done for us and the whole of Edil-Amarandh," he said gravely, and looked up at her. Maerad was trapped by a pair of honey-coloured eyes, set inside an honest face. "Please accept our gracious thanks," he said.

Maerad felt the blood rush to her face, and was momentarily dumbstruck. Over Tallal's head, Cadvan winked at her, his face glowing in the yellow sunlight and his mouth stretched in one of his most illuminating smiles. Maerad could not help but smile back, and nodded to Tallal.

"Thank you," she said. "But it seems strange to have someone thank me for something I had no choice in doing."

Tallal rose, his honey eyes still serious. "Aye, miss, there is always a choice, as Cadvan here always tells us. You could have run fer the hills. Instead you faced your task with a bravery that not even I could have mustered - an' I'm a brave one, lass." He grinned self-mockingly at her, suddenly full of jest once more, and Maerad smiled back.

"I'm sure you are," she said politely, and then suddenly there were people everywhere, offering her their hands and their thanks, a rush of faces, and she momentarily lost Cadvan, overwhelmed by the many smiling greetings.

Somehow, she found herself near the edge of the crowds, and had an unimpaired view of the town square for once. Most of the people in the square were watching the crowds and whispering to each other behind their hands. There was one person who was not.

He was a man, tall, with dark features, possibly only a little older than Maerad herself, and he stood just to the edge of the gossipers, and stared at her with what Maerad could only define as absolute hostility.

She paused, momentarily discomforted by this change in attitude from the rest of the crowds, but found she could not take her eyes from his. There was something in his eyes, an emotion, that she felt she _deserved_. She did not deserve this rush of thanks, but she did deserve that anger, that hostility.

Tallal took her arm, shaking her out of her stupor. "All right, miss?" he asked, in the gentle tone that he used when speaking with her.

Maerad nodded half-heartedly, hesitated, then decided to go with it, and gestured slightly to the dark faced man. "Who is he?"

"Oh." The expression on Tallal's exuberant face darkened slightly, into something cold and hard, like steel. "That's Haartel." He glanced at Maerad's discomforted expression, and added, reluctantly, as if he did not wish to say it, "He is Ilar's son."

Maerad stared at him in open-mouthed shock, then quickly turned back to where the man had been standing…but he had gone.

The crowd moved on into the inn, carrying Maerad with it, and she had no chance to think on this development before drinks were being pressed into her hands and voices were seizing her attention. She smiled and chatted as best she could, but the face of the dark-haired stranger refused to leave her mind.

The day wore on, full of different faces and voices, all ringing with the same thanks. By late afternoon, Maerad had been so bombarded by people and had been bought so many glasses of wine that she was beginning to feel sick. She excused herself from the latest group of well-wishers with a smile and staggered outside into the back gardens of the inn. It was cooler outside, and less crowded because of the extra space, and Maerad leaned against the wall of the inn, in the afternoon shadows, with a relieved sigh, glad to be alone at last.

After a moment, she slid down the wall to the ground and sat there for a moment, picking at the grass and trying to clear her head.

She had always assumed, because Cadvan had said that his direct family were dead, that he was as lonely as her, that he was as lost in the world as she and Hem. That assumption, she now realised, had been wrong. Sure, there was only Mari and a few other actual members of his family around, but then there were others - friends of the family who had grown up knowing Cadvan - and through several generations because of his Bardic lifespan - and then there were other Bards, and friends, and even fans…yes, there were many here who loved him. No wonder he missed Lirigon when he was away, no wonder he had been so loathe to leave it in the first place and wander in the darkness of the world, no wonder he always spoke of it with fondness. There was enough love here for twenty people.

And yet - though everyone had been more than friendly to her, and more than gracious and welcoming - Maerad had never felt more alone. She felt as though she had somehow lost Cadvan by seeing this, she felt as though she were less special to him, because there were plenty that loved him (as they should, she added loyally to herself) and that if she ever stopped loving him, he would perhaps not even notice. Whereas if he did the same to her, his absence would be felt forever.

She hugged herself gently. This thinking was illogical, she knew, and yet she felt it anyway. Maybe Cadvan only loved her because she had been the only one around at the time. Maybe what they had was not that special - after all, everyone here seemed to feel the same love for him as she did…maybe this odd rosy happiness she had been feeling lately wasn't going to last after all.

She wished she could talk to Hem. He - at least - was all hers. Then she felt guilty for thinking this. She should be wishing Hem all the love in the world, not jealously keeping him all for herself. She should be doing the same with Cadvan. And yet…she still felt it, felt it all…

She heard a footstep close to her, and glanced up. The dark-faced stranger - what had Tallal called him? Haartel, that was it - was standing not more than a hundred yards away, glaring at her with the same hostility. Maerad scrambled untidily to her feet, feeling self-conscious and wishing Cadvan was with her. The last she had seen on him, he was being cornered by a bunch of apparently crazy young girls, begging him for autographs (NB: sound like anyone you know, Pellinorites? :p ).

"Um," she said, when Haartel said nothing, and then, when this still provoked no response, added, "I…know who you are."

Haartel finally spoke, in cold, clear tones, as icy as a river. "I know," he said.

Maerad hesitated, momentarily floundering.

"I…wouldn't be surprised if you hated me forever," she said quietly, and a little stiffly.

Haartel took a step forward, with a bitter laugh. "Oh, what difference would it make to you if I do or not? There's ten thousand of people who love you for every one that doesn't. You saved the world."

Maerad swallowed, wishing she could say what she meant - that their thanks felt like nothing to her, that his hatred was the only thing that made sense to her.

"Yes, I saved the world," she said quietly. "But I killed your mother."

A momentary flash of memory came back to her, _a white face falling away, with a neat hole in its forehead, that agony of anger, that insanity…_

"Yes," Haartel said. "You did."

Maerad met his eyes. "I will never forgive myself," she said. "And I don't care if you believe me or not."

Haartel half-shrugged, his tall, lean form rigid with suppressed anger.

"One death that -whether indirectly or not, whether intended or not - saved many lives. If one thinks about it hard enough, it almost looks like Ilar was a martyr."

Her name had not been spoken before, and now it hung in the air, like a ghost, one of the dead watching Maerad, like they did in her dreams, always watching her, always there, in the shadows…

"No one should have died," she said hollowly. "Not for the Light. And yet plenty do."

Haartel nodded, a flash of acknowledgement in his dark eyes. "Such is the way of the world," he said.

"It is not fair," Maerad whispered, and decided that was a stupid thing to say. She more than anybody knew how unfair life was.

The shadows felt colder.

Maerad hesitated, then reached to her shoulder, where a new Pellinor brooch was pinned, made in Innail for her by Silvia and Malgorn while she had been recuperating. Slowly, she unpinned the brooch and looked at it, at her pale reflection inside it.

"When I fought Sharma," she whispered, "In the last battle, where I fought Sharma…I…I saw the dead. I opened myself to the darkness beyond and I saw the dead, and the, the, the dead saw me. I _saw _Ilar, and she saw me, and, and…and she forgave me." She looked up at the tall form of Haartel, but he had not moved. "I know what I saw," she added defiantly. "And I know she forgave me. But I want you to have this." She reached forward, the brooch out in her hand. "So that you will always remember to hate me."

Haartel looked down at the brooch, but made no move to take it at first. Then, very slowly, he reached down and plucked it from her fingers, surveying its design.

"My aunt is a Bard," he said after a while. "She said she felt it, like all Bards did, when you defeated Sharma. She said she felt the peace. She said it was the peace of the dead, and that you had put them to rest. But I wonder - are the dead ever really at rest? Or do we dig them up time and time again, in our minds, in our memories?" He looked down at the brooch, moving it from side to side so that the shadows moved and twisted in the metal. Then he looked at Maerad.

"Why do you want me to hate you?" he asked.

Maerad hesitated, unsure herself, then ploughed forward.

"A Balance," she said. "I am a Bard, there must always be a Balance. I need people who hate me as well as love me. Otherwise…I suppose I will become corrupted. Just like Enkir was corrupted by pure Light, so will I become." She motioned to the brooch. "Take it," she said.

Haartel glanced at it again, then nodded. "I will take it," he said. "And I will accept that my mother forgave you. But it is more than I could ever do."

Maerad smiled sadly. "I know," she said. "Thank you."

And then she blinked, and he was gone, and there was nothing but shadows left behind.

She sighed, and looked back at the inn, where loud music was now playing. Her head felt better, but she in no way felt ready to face those grateful, happy faces again. It was not her world. It was Cadvan's world, and it was the world of those who loved and lived in the Light. But Maerad would always be between the Light and the Dark, on the knife edge between the two. She did not belong there; she belonged alone, like she always had.

Silently, she turned back to the gardens and left through the back gate, completely unnoticed for once.

***

Maerad arrived back at Mari's house in early evening, having spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the town and School of Lirigon. The place was beautiful, as beautiful as any other town she had been to, and it proved a balm to her rattled nature. But now she wanted to talk to Cadvan, she needed to, to calm her restless fears.

But only Mari was in the kitchen, stirring the pan of something that smelled delicious. She rose an eyebrow when Maerad entered the room.

"You vanished," she observed coldly.

Maerad shrugged, a little awkwardly. "I…needed to get away." She glanced around the room - Cadvan's cloak was not on the hook by the door. "Is Cadvan here?" she asked.

"No," said Mari simply, and went back to her stew, apparently not noticing Maerad's agitation, her repeated clenching and unclenching of hands.

"I…I wanted to talk with him," she whispered.

"Mmm." Mari seemed unconcerned. "Well, he's not here, and I doubt he'll get back until tomorrow morning." She picked up the ladle out of the stew and tasted it thoughtfully. "Needs more basil," she announced to the room at large, and added some.

"Where is he?" Maerad almost snapped, then regretted it when Mari threw her a cold look.

"The graveyard," said Mari.

Maerad blinked, then opened her mouth to ask why, and then realised…

"Ceredin," she said. She sat down in a chair and stared at the tabletop.

Mari turned away from her stew properly.

"So you know of her then."

Maerad nodded, fighting tears. Her need to see Cadvan, to be reassured that he _was _hers, that he _did _love her, had been more urgent than she had realised. But instead he was away, spending time with the past…

"He loves her still," she said, without realising she had said it aloud.

There was a pause, then suddenly a cup of something hot and sweet smelling was plonked down in front of her. Maerad glanced blearily up at Mari.

"Lirigon's famous sweet tea," she said, nodding at it. "Good for calming the nerves. I reckon yer need it, girlie."

Maerad laughed, because the alternative was sobbing, and took a sip. It warmed her to her toes and the flavours danced on her tongue.

Mari sat down opposite her.

"I reckon the inn scared you too," she said. "And I reckon you didn't know Cadvan was loved by so many, and now it scares you."

Maerad didn't bother nodding. She stared into the tea.

"I thought…maybe I was…" she started, then trailed off. She didn't know how to phrase it. She took another heavy sip. "But obviously not," she finished, weakly.

Mari stood up.

"Stay there," she ordered, and left the room. Maerad obeyed, staring into her drink miserably, and when Mari returned, she was carrying a small suitcase, which she placed in front of Maerad.

"He left it in his room when he went the first time," she said. "But I think it's the most precious thing to him."

Maerad opened the suitcase. It was full of envelopes and sheets of paper. She glanced at Mari, who shrugged.

"Correspondence between him and Ceredin, throughout the years. They used to write to each other every week, even when they lived together. Crazy. Anyway, you should read them."

Maerad stared sourly at the letters. "Why?"

"Because I'll bet that what you'll find written there is almost exactly the things he says - and feels - about you. Yes, girlie, he is well loved, but he also loves well. And I have never seen him so filled with joy as when he looks on you. You do not need to worry that he will ever forget you. He might as well try to deny his very heart."

Mari turned back to the bubbling stew. "And after that you can go to the damn graveyard and bring him back," she said, business-like again. "If someone doesn't go and get him, he does insist on being there all night, and then _I _have to look after him when he gets ill."

Maerad half smiled and looked down at the letters. She was not sure if she should do it, if she should invade Cadvan's privacy like this…but then, Mari probably knew him better than she did, and she obviously thought it was worth Maerad's while to read them. And it would help…

She picked up the first one, and began reading.

***

It transpired that Ceredin had been buried in the School of Lirigon's graveyard, rather than the town graveyard, and by the time Maerad had found her way there, the sun had almost sunk under the horizon. The sky was darkening into a deeper blue, and some of the more eager stars were already out.

Ceredin's grave was under a willow tree - apparently her favourite type - and it was there that Maerad saw Cadvan, sitting against the trunk and staring at the understated headstone, his fingers laced together, his brow furrowed.

Nervously, she approached.

He looked up when she got close enough, and seemed surprised, but not annoyed.

"Mari told you I was here?"

Maerad nodded, and transferred her gaze to the headstone. It was plain, stating Ceredin's name, her birth date, her death date, and saying simply 'Much loved.' The two words seemed to be so inferior compared to the letters she had read. Maybe the letters had said so much that, in the end, only two words were needed to sum them up.

She gestured with the red rose she held in her hand.

"Fresh from Mari's garden."

Cadvan saw the rose and his expression changed.

"You've read the letters."

Maerad scanned his face nervously, then nodded when she could read nothing in it.

"Mari…she…I'm sorry."

She reached down and gave Cadvan the rose, who smelled it, then stroked the petals thoughtfully.

"Then you know I used to send her a rose - her favourite flower - with every letter."

Maerad's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "Mari said you only did that if you had done something wrong."

Cadvan grinned, suddenly that young man of so long ago again. "True," he said. "All right, true."

He stared down at the rose, and once more became the dark, withdrawn Cadvan she had first met, and known. Then, very gently, he placed it under the headstone, stared at it for a bit longer, then stood up and transferred his gaze wholly to Maerad.

"It has been an odd day," he said.

Maerad nodded. "A day full of the past."

Cadvan smiled, a little sadly, and glanced back at the grave. "Yes," he said.

Maerad hesitated, then said, "They were beautiful." The look Cadvan gave her was blank, so she elaborated timidly. "The…the letters. Beautiful."

Cadvan smiled again. "I do not often read them when I come home."

"You should."

"They…remind me of brighter days. They sadden me."

Maerad almost laughed. "They made me happy."

"Yes?"

"Yes." She smiled properly at him. "They were full of love, of light. They were happy. You…really love her."

Cadvan hesitated. "I really love you," he said sombrely.

Maerad could not meet his eyes. Cadvan stepped through the gloom and gently slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up so that she looked at him.

"Maerad," he said, quietly.

Maerad swallowed. "I wasn't sure," she whispered. "There are so many here that love you. I wasn't sure if you…if I…if we…" It sounded so ridiculous. "I thought you might forget me," she mumbled.

She expected Cadvan to laugh at her, or at least grin. He did neither, but instead stared intently into her eyes. "Maerad, if you think I could ever, _ever_ forget you…after all we have done together, and been through, and seen…"

Maerad nodded. "I know, I know. I…read the letters. And it made me realise…you love me as you loved her. And I know you will never forget her."

"_Neither _of you," he said firmly. "Maerad, even if you were a million miles away…forgetting you would be impossible. No matter how much I am loved, by how many and by whom. You will always come first."

Maerad hesitated. "Did you mean what you said?"

"About?"

"About…loving me."

They both felt it and both knew they felt it…but neither of them had actually _said_ it.

Cadvan grinned in the gloom. "Maybe," he said teasingly.

Maerad smiled too. "I suppose that is good enough. For now."

Cadvan's fingers stroked gently along her chin, cupping her cheek.

"It has been a hard day," he said. "I am sorry I haven't been there."

Maerad looked along at the grave, and smiled again, calmly. "I think I can lose you to the past a few times. As long as you always come back."

"I promise," he said, and kissed her. It was as sweet as the Lirigon tea, as deep as the oncoming night, and Maerad gratefully sank into it, feeling her worries of the day float back into the back of her mind, where the dead lurked.

After a while, Cadvan moved away.

"I suppose Mari is worrying about me."

"You suppose right."

"Then we should go." He glanced back at the grave, then nodded. "Yes. We should go."

Maerad nodded. "Just give me a moment."

She waited until Cadvan was far enough away not to overhear her, then she sank to her knees and ran her hand along the top of the gravestone.

"I'll look after him," she promised. "And I won't let him forget."

And then she stood up, gave the grave and the rose one parting nod, and turned away to join Cadvan.

They linked arms and walked back through the graveyard as night descended upon them, and neither looked back. Because for now, there would be light, and love, and the past would be nothing but shadows. For now.

**Reviews make me a happy Jennistar…**


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